Job
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'The End', 5x4. Implied past Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'The End', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Ben Edlund.**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

_Terrors shall make him afraid on every side, and shall drive him to his feet. His strength shall be hunger-bitten, and destruction shall be ready at his side._

_Job 18:5_

It feels like a miracle that Cas agreed to letting Dean sleep for a few hours before he shows up and drags Dean off on what's probably a wild goose chase to find the Colt – and even if they do find it, there's still no guarantee it will work on the Devil. Dean's gotta figure killing actual, real, biblical _Satan_ isn't exactly what Samuel Colt had in mind when he made the gun. Werewolves and shape-shifters are one thing, Lucifer himself is another. And then when his exhausted body collapses gratefully into the lumpy bed it feels like Dean's head has been on the pillow for about two minutes before his phone buzzes again. Which is _not_ cool. He was almost asleep, too, and now he feels worse than he did before he lied down. He gropes blindly for the little vibrating device, finding it and flipping it open without opening his eyes and resisting the urge to hurl it across the room.

"Dammit, Cas, I need to sleep," Dean growls. They talked about this. Dean isn't a robot, he can't be at Cas's beck and call twenty-four/seven. He's no good to anyone if he's so tired he's falling asleep behind the wheel and ending up in a ditch, which he almost did four times on the drive to Kansas City.

"Dean, it's me," Sam's voice says.

Dean opens his eyes, his heart racing for a moment – always the older brother, always instantly worried Sam's calling because something bad happened. Sam didn't sound upset or distressed though, and then Dean sighs because if Sam is calling drunk again to babble about how sorry he is, Dean is going to be pissed. "Sam? It's quarter-past four."

"This is important."

Dean sighs again and sits up, rubbing his free palm over his tired face. Sam doesn't sound drunk either, so Dean resigns himself to having this conversation, whatever it may be. "Okay. Make it quick, I'm beat."

"You're gonna be pissed."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I didn't _do_ anything," Sam returns, little-brother petulance all over his voice like he's annoyed Dean's brain went directly to the situation being Sam's fault.

Dean doesn't think it's a totally unreasonable assumption, giving their current circumstances. "Then what?"

"I don't …" Sam's quiet for a moment before continuing. "This is crazy, man. I still can't wrap my head around it. But, um. You know how Zachariah told us you're the Michael sword?"

"Uh-huh."

"Apparently I'm Lucifer's."

Dean pauses to let that sink it, because Sam _can't_ mean what it sounds like he does. It's impossible. And if it's true, it's _horrible_. "I – what?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know that?"

"Because he … I don't know, came to me. In a dream. Told me."

Dean shakes his head. "Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?"

"Yeah, of course I do. That's why I said it was crazy. I'm not _happy_ about it, but that's what he said."

"Maybe it _was_ just a dream. Or maybe somebody drugged you or something."

Sam huffs. "Okay, because, I don't know what the hell reality is anymore? Do you really think I'm that far gone?"

"How is it reality if it happened in a dream?" Dean points out.

"It wasn't a _dream_ dream. It was real, Dean, he was here. I mean, not _here_. But he was in my head."

"How do you know you weren't imagining it?"

"Because I wasn't!" Sam snaps. "It was exactly like you said it was when Cas did it to you. Lucifer is an angel, right? The fallen angel? So he can do that too, I guess. And it was like you said. Like I knew I was dreaming but I couldn't wake up because he was in control of it, not me. And it felt _real_."

That _is_ exactly how Dean felt when Cas found him in a dream. Dean pushes himself off the bed. If what Sam's saying is true, Dean is way too sober for this conversation. The idea that his little brother is the meat-suit Lucifer wants to ride around while he destroys the world is just … way too much. Dean opens the fridge and reaches for a beer from the six-pack he'd put in there earlier. "So, you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?"

"That's what he said," Sam repeats stiffly, sounding just as freaked out as Dean feels.

"Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh Sammy?"

"So that's it? That's your response?"

"What're you lookin' for?" Dean can't let Sam know how scared he is. It wouldn't help anything.

"I don't know, a little panic, maybe?"

"Well, I guess I'm a little numb to the Earth-shattering revelations at this point." That much, at least, is true.

"What are we gonna do about it?"

"What d'you wanna do about it?"

"I want back in, for starters."

"Sam."

"I mean it. I am sick of being a puppet to these sons-of-bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean."

"Oh, so we're back to revenge, then, are we? Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well last time."

"Not revenge," Sam says quietly. "Redemption."

"So you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?"

"Look, Dean, I can do this. I can. I'm gonna prove it to you."

Dean closes his eyes. Words couldn't express how much he wishes he could say yes. How much he's missed Sam these few weeks, how much he wants Sam back with him so badly it hurts. But he can't. "Look, Sam. It doesn't matter." Dean sits down in the chair and leans his elbows on his knees. "Whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the … the fire and the oil and the Armageddon. Y'know, on that basis alone we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other, for good."

"Dean, it does not have to be like this. We can fight it!"

"Yeah you're right, we can. But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us, love, family, whatever it is. They are always gonna use it against us. And you know that." Dean leans back in the chair, eyes burning and the words feel like razor blades coming out of his mouth. "No, we're better off apart. We got a better chance at dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways."

"Don't do this," Sam pleads.

"Goodbye Sam," Dean forces out, before shutting his phone even though he can still hear the tail end of Sam begging him not to hang up. It's the most painful thing he's ever had to say, but it's necessary. Dean knows he's right. When he's around Sam lately, his judgment is all screwed up. He's so worried about Sam, about keeping him safe and keeping him from going down yet another dark road, that he can't be a good hunter at the same time. If Dean's going to save the entire _world_ his head needs to be in the game in a way it isn't if Sam's around. And really, Sam's better off alone too. Dean doesn't like to think about it, but he knows how much he's damaged his brother in the last few years, with the crappy way he handled Sam's psychic thing and the deal and how much of a train-wreck he was after Hell. It hurts and it feels like twenty different kinds of wrong, but they're both much better off if they stay away from each other.

Dean downs the rest of the beer in a few uncomfortable swallows and then tosses the empty bottle into the sink and falls back into the bed. He lies awake for what feels like hours before he finally slips into a fitful sleep.

When he wakes up, the world has ended.

* * *

Zachariah is still the biggest dick in a mile-wide bag of dicks. He sends Dean into the future to teach him a lesson, to show him what happens if Dean keeps refusing to say yes to Michael. Dean learns about fifty lessons – including horde toilet paper, apparently – but he doesn't learn that one. Dean hates who he becomes and it makes him feel _sick_ to see the planet destroyed and so many lives snuffed out like they never mattered. In a world where Dean doesn't say yes to Michael, he more or less condemns the entire planet to death. There's something Zachariah wasn't counting on, though. Dean knows it isn't one of his better qualities, but the terrible truth is he would let the whole damn planet burn if it meant saving Sam. The needs of the many only outweigh the needs of the few if the few doesn't include Sam. Dean knows it makes him a bad person. He knows it and he doesn't care.

All the things he saw in the future, the only one that really matters to him is Sam in that white suit with the devil inside pulling the strings. The smug smile pulling up the corners of Sam's lips; the cold, cruel look in his eyes and the way everything about him was the complete opposite of the brother Dean has known and loved for twenty-six years. Dean only talks to him for a few minutes before Zachariah pulls him back, but in all the time Dean's known Sam he's _never_ seen his face look like that and it sends chills down to Dean's bone marrow. That's the only thing Dean needs to stop. The rest of it will work out or it won't, and they probably have way less control over it than they think they do, but Sam can't say yes. That much Dean knows for sure. And if they die because of it, at least they'll die together. It's the happiest ending they could hope for, really, given the life they live.

He meets Sam in a field next to a train bridge, and Dean leans against the Impala while he waits, lost in his own thoughts. Sam pulls up in an old, beige Chevy – so similar to the Impala, Dean has to smile just a little bit. When Sam gets out, there's clenching in Dean's chest that he tries desperately to keep from showing on his face. They have so many things to work out, but Dean just _misses_ him. He wants Sam back even if it dooms them both. And it will.

"Sam," he says quietly, and Sam eyes him warily like he's not sure if Dean's about to hug him or punch him. Dean kind of wants to do both. Instead he pulls Ruby's knife out of the holster inside his jacket and holds it out for Sam to take. "If you're serious, and you want back in, then you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty."

Sam nods and takes it, and doesn't say anything.

"Look, man, I'm sorry," Dean tells him. "I don't know, I'm … whatever I need to be, but I was, uh … wrong."

Sam looks up at him. "What made you change your mind?"

"Long story. The point is, maybe we are each other's Achilles' heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that, we keep each other human."

"Thank you," Sam says, and he sounds like he's never meant anything more. "Really, thank you. I won't let you down."

"Oh, I know it. I mean, you are the second best hunter on the planet."

Sam smiles just a little. "So what do we do now?"

"We make our own future."

"Guess we have no choice."

"Yeah, we do. The angels think they've got us, Sam. They think we're freakin' performing monkeys, they think all they gotta do is toss us a banana and we'll be singin' karaoke. But they're wrong. We have a ton of choices." Dean pauses, staring for a minute into Sam's bright hazel eyes. They're _alive_ in a way they weren't when the devil was inside him. Somehow, that's all the reassurance Dean needs. "And the most important one, the one we _both_ forgot, is that if there is _ever_ a choice between you'n'me and _anything_ else?"

"It's you and me," Sam promises, echoing exactly what Dean was going to say. "All the way. I never should've forgotten that."

"Me neither."

Sam nods, his forehead still creased in a frown. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I know you are, kiddo. I am too." Dean lifts his arms up a little. "C'mere."

Sam cocks his head to one side. "Really?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Don't make it weird. Just come here."

Sam steps tentatively in a little closer and Dean pulls him into a hug. It feels like the pieces of Dean that have been missing for the last few weeks – months – finally snap back into place. Sam smells and feels just like he remembers. Sam's stiff for just a second like he still doesn't quite trust that this isn't a trick, and then he melts into Dean and wraps his arms around Dean's back and hunches over to bury his face in Dean's shoulder. He exhales shakily and clings to Dean like he's been holding himself together for weeks and is trying desperately not to fall apart now. Dean slides one hand into his hair out of habit and turns his face to the side to breathe in the scent of the shampoo Sam uses and his skin and _home_.

"C'mon. Let's get outta here." Dean says it, and then he still holds onto Sam for a few more seconds before he lets go.

"Together?"

"Unless you wanna keep that hunk of junk," Dean says, nodding at Sam's car.

"Guess not."

"It's stolen anyway, right?" Dean reasons.

"_No_," Sam answers, only half-offended. "I paid for it."

"With what?" Dean asks, with a raised eyebrow, and Sam grins sheepishly and looks halfway between ashamed and proud of himself.

"I worked in a bar, and there was this drunk guy bein' an asshole to some chick, wouldn't leave her alone, so I nicked his credit card before I kicked him out."

Dean tosses his head back and laughs harder than he has in months. "That's my boy!" he cries, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Now come on. The car's been drivin' lopsided without your gigantic ass in there to even her out. The suspension isn't used to just me."

* * *

Dean isn't going to say it but he loved having Sam with him again, seeing him out of the corner of his eye while they drove for hours to nowhere. Nothing is fixed. Not for good, anyway. And Dean's not exactly looking forward to the fact that they have a lot to talk about and probably a rough few weeks ahead of them before they can get back to the way they used to be – if they can do it at all; Dean still has his doubts. It feels like a good start, though, and for now Dean will take it.

"So, you wanna tell me that long story now?" Sam asks once they're settled in yet another cookie-cutter motel room. He's sitting on the edge of one of the beds cleaning his sawed-off – he didn't take it with him and Dean hasn't touched it since they've been apart. This room is nearly the same as every other one Dean's spent a night in for the last few weeks, but it feels different now because Sam's here with him. Sam's presence has always made these dumps feel just a little bit like home.

Dean leans against the chest of drawers across the room and crosses his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankles. "More angel-induced time travel. Those dicks love tryin' to teach me shit, don't they?"

Sam looks up in surprise. "Man, why is it always you? Where did they send you this time?"

"Zachariah sent me to 2014. To see what would happen if I kept refusing to say yes to Michael."

"And what happened?"

"It was … well. It was Apocalypse Now." Dean shrugs. "Pretty much exactly what you'd imagine. I met my future self, that was a bad trip. And they used Croatoan."

"Who?"

"The demons, I guess. That was their weapon, how they were getting rid of all the people. I mean, it's a dick move, but it's brilliant. Biological warfare at its finest. Or, crappiest."

Sam nods and looks like he's mulling that over in his brain. "Yeah. I guess so. That's terrible, but it would work."

"It _did_ work."

"You're not thinkin' of saying yes, now, right?"

Dean shakes his head. "No way. Like you said, we're not their puppets. The angels let the damn Apocalypse _happen_. This is their fault as much as anyone. Now they want us to believe letting Michael all up in me is gonna clean this mess up? I'm not buying it. They probably want to burn the world down as much as the Devil does, and I'm not gonna help them do it."

Sam smiles a little and goes back to cleaning his gun.

"What?" Dean asks, frowning.

"That's just very _you_, that's all," Sam says with a one-armed shrug. "I … I missed you."

Dean licks his lips and tries very hard to contain how happy it makes him to hear Sam say those words. There's a big part of him that just wants to grab Sam and kiss him and fall right back into _them_, but then a bigger part of him knows that would be a mistake. At least for now. "Well, that's the thing I did figure out. That they're gonna try to split us up anyway but we need to stick together."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning … when Zachariah beamed me forward, it … I saw what happened, you know? He wanted my take-away to be that if I say yes to Michael, I can stop it. But the thing is, I asked future-me where you were, and he said we hadn't seen each other in five years."

Sam looks up and tilts his head again like he doesn't get it.

"It's 2009. Five years _is_ 2014. In that version of reality, you and me parted ways a few weeks ago and never saw each other again. _That's_ why everything went to shit. I saw what happened to the world when we stayed separated, Sam. And it was chaos. So yeah, sometimes we fight. Sometimes we hate each other. But we're supposed to stick together. Because if we don't, the worst happens."

Sam nods thoughtfully and is still for a moment before he asks, "What's the worst?"

"You said yes."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"To the Devil. To being his vessel."

Sam frowns, and opens his mouth once or twice before he says, "I'm not gonna say yes, Dean."

"You are if something doesn't change."

"I want to _kill_ the devil, not let him wear me like a mascot costume."

"You _did_, though. It wasn't a vision, Sam, it was the future," Dean points out. "And that's exactly what I'm saying. I saw how this plays out. If you and I don't fix things between us, right now, then this is the last time we ever see each other. And pretty soon there's a title fight in Detroit and you say yes because I'm not there to stop you."

Sam exhales heavily. He pushes his hair off his face and then he looks away sadly. "So we're back to that already? Three hours and we're back to me being the perpetual screw-up who can't keep from walking into traffic without you there holding my hand?"

"That's not what I said." Dean holds his hands up to show Sam he's being honest, even though Sam isn't looking at him. "It's not what I _meant_, okay? I don't know how it happens. Maybe Lucifer forces you, maybe you won't have a choice. Or maybe …"

He trails off for a moment, until Sam glances back and asks, "Maybe what?"

"Maybe it's because of this." Dean gestures between them. "Maybe if you and I never mend fences or whatever, you go on thinkin' I hate you and I don't forgive you and eventually you just get to the point of fuck-it. Things can't get any worse, might as well let the Devil in."

Sam shakes his head, his eyes sad and scared, and doesn't answer. Dean can't handle seeing him look like that. The urge to fix it burns under his skin.

"I mean, shit, if this was flipped around? If I thought you hated me, you never wanted to see me again? I don't know what the hell I'd do. Somethin' bad. The me in the future? He wasn't _me_, Sam. At all. He used his friends, _Cas_, as a distraction; he sent them to die and he didn't even care. He was like me if you took away my morals, my humanity. So maybe that's because he didn't have you anymore." Dean chews at his lip for a second and then forces himself to go for broke; adding, "Maybe I need you lookin' out for me too. Maybe the truth is we'd _both_ walk into traffic without the other one there holdin' our hands."

"So, you _don't_ hate me, then," Sam concludes softly.

Dean frowns, his chest aching at the look on Sam's face. He walks over and sits beside Sam on the bed, close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. "No, Sammy, I don't."

"When you were gone … you don't know what it was like," Sam says, his voice quiet and shaky. "I know I've said that before. And I know it sounds so stupid because it's nothing compared to what you went through, but it's the truth."

"I know."

"She used me. She got her claws in me when I was devastated and vulnerable and then by the time you got back it was already too late. I was too far gone."

Dean nods. He knows that too. He should have tried harder to understand, to be there for Sam. Dean was too wrapped up in his own head, in how broken _he_ was inside, that he never stopped to care about how broken Sam was too. He'll never forgive himself for that.

"I was doin' it for you, too, you know. The stuff with Ruby."

"Sam," Dean starts, but Sam interrupts him.

"No, I mean it. I mean, yeah, there were a lot of other reasons. I was doing it to stop the Apocalypse. And 'cause I liked the way the blood made me feel, as screwy as that is. But also, it was because she said it would help you."

"Help me with what?" Dean asks, confused.

"I saw you, man. We both did. After Hell," Sam answers sadly. He braces his hands on the mattress beside him and tips forward a little so his hair falls in front of his eyes. Dean hates it when Sam hides behind his hair. "You weren't okay, and you weren't getting better. I kept trying to help you but nothing was working. And Ruby said you were drowning because Lilith was the one who sent you to Hell and she was up here walking around like she owned the place instead of in the pit where she belonged. Ruby said that was messing with your head. She said once I killed Lilith, you would start to get better."

"Oh." Dean frowns and lets Sam's words settle like dust for a moment. He never knew any of that.

"I know she was just manipulating me. Lookin' back now it's so easy to see that. But I believed her, at the time. 'Cause I couldn't fix you. And I didn't stop you from dying in the first place. I was willing to do anything to make up for that."

Dean swallows thickly over a lump in his throat and closes his eyes for a second, then he reaches over and smoothes his hand briefly over Sam's hair before letting it fall away. "That wasn't your fault."

"Doesn't matter if it was or wasn't. Point is, I _felt_ like it was. I … I'm not try'na make excuses, okay? Nothin' I can say will erase what I did, I know that. I just want you to understand why I did it. Why I thought I was doin' the right thing."

"I do," Dean tells him. He probably doesn't, not really, but Dean thinks that's a conversation for another day. He's still exhausted – it's been days since he's slept, and Sam doesn't look particularly rested either. Dean supposes having the Devil show up in your dreams would do that to a person. "Look, we can talk about all that tomorrow, alright? As much as you want. I haven't slept in forever, man, I'm runnin' on fumes here. And you don't look much better. How 'bout for now we just get some shut-eye?"

"Okay," Sam says softly. He sounds too tired to argue.

Dean gets up, stepping out of his shoes and pulling off his shirt as he walks past Sam toward the bed closer to the door. Then, on second thought, he steps back toward Sam and bends down to kiss the top of his head. It's kinda stupid and girly but Dean tries not to let that bother him. He can feel Sam watching him as he crawls into the bed and lies on his side facing the door, half of him hoping Sam will get into it with him. Sam reassembles the gun, Dean can hear the familiar metallic clicks, and shuffles around the room for a few minutes before the lights go out and he climbs into the other bed.

For a few minutes, Dean lies there with his eyes open and listens to Sam's slightly uneven breathing and cringes inside at the lingering tension that floats between them. It's a paradox – Dean feels both like he knows the man in the other bed better than he knows himself and like he's never met him before at the same time. He can't stand it. Can't stand the distance, the uncertainty, the fact that he has to wonder whether they'll really ever be okay again. A million years ago, Dean could be sure everything would be alright just based on Sam being near him. Now the comfort and security of being together is gone, and Dean wants it back more than anything.

It's a bad idea. It's going to make things worse; make him more exposed and weaker and more at-risk of being hurt again, but Dean can't help himself. He rolls over and gets out of the bed, crosses the small space between them and crawls into the other bed behind Sam.

"Dean?" Sam asks, trying to turn over, but Dean moves in behind him and won't let Sam move. He doesn't want Sam to look at him right now. All Dean's stitches would come undone if he did.

"Shut up," he says, snaking his arm around Sam's middle and resting his forehead against the back of Sam's neck. He inhales Sam's scent and lets it fill him up. "Just sleep, okay?"

Sam's quiet for a moment and then he slides his hand over Dean's, their fingers slotting together, and pulls Dean's hand up to the center of his chest. "Okay."

They still have a long way to go, but with Sam in his arms, Dean feels like he can relax fully for the first time in weeks. He was wrong, when he was on the phone with Sam a few days ago. It doesn't matter what's going on between them, being with Sam is always better than being without him. Dean's not going to let himself forget that again.


End file.
